


Cardiac Abode

by Trisdani



Series: inexplicable [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gen, Georgebur, M/M, Musician Wilbur Soot, Mutual Pining, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trisdani/pseuds/Trisdani
Summary: Wilbur’s instrument was his heart, and it always played the loudest and most cheerful tune for George.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Series: inexplicable [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000875
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	Cardiac Abode

He licked his thumb and pulled apart the two pages that were stuck together. Brunet locks between his forehead and the palm of his hand, his eyes felt heavy under the warmth of the summer day. His back was pressed against the trunk of an old tree and the dampness of the soil beneath him soaked into his trousers. He didn’t mind though. There where he sat was his happy place. His place to unwind and just forget the present.

The air was still, so one could imagine the confusion on George’s face when a set of yellow dandelion petals fell on top of his pages. He looked up to see a grinning cheshire cat smile looking down at him. Above him, just sitting on a branch, was the old curly haired musician from Pogtopia. 

“What?” George questioned, “you’re not tall enough already, so you have to climb a tree for a better view?”

Wilbur grinned happily, swinging his guitar over his shoulder and into his lap. “The view is quite nice up here. Care to join me?” The color of his sweater matched the yellow of the disassembled dandelion next to him.

George wasn’t smiling as much as Wilbur. His lips barely curved to give Wilbur the satisfaction. “The ground is much more comfortable, thank you, but no,” he said, brushing off the petals from his book. He shut it softly and pulled his bag over to him where he was sure the book wouldn’t be damaged. “Please tell me you aren’t planning on staying,” he said.

Wilbur laughed. “No, I don’t think I will, because do you want to know why, Gogy?” He asked. George rolled his eyes. “Because your friend stole my son. I don’t trust Dream or whatever he puts into Fundy’s head.”

There it was. The million dollar answer. George stood up and brushed the grass off his shirt, he watched it collect by his feet where a pair of mushrooms had begun to grow. Decidingly, he chose to observe those another day, for now, he looked up at Wilbur. “And that is your conscious decision. Why are you bothering me, though?”

Wilbur rested his chin in his hands. “Didn’t mean to be a bother,” he said sadly. George could detect the mock sad tone, but it still worked its charm. For whatever Wilbur went through to find him, he was persistent. George never told anyone of this spot, just because he loves to be alone there. Either Wilbur tracked him down like a wolf, or they both shared the feeling of being alone in the calming atmosphere.

He nudged his bag to the side and stuck a foot onto a thick branch near the base of the trunk. He might as well join the other. 

“Ah, you’re quite easy to convince,” Wilbur chuckled, reaching a hand down to help pull George up. The shorter took it gratefully, quickly finding his way up to near the same elevation as the other. He wondered to himself, how did Wilbur sneak up the tree so quietly? With George awkwardly sitting on an angle on the branch with an old knot in the tree digging into his side, he took a moment to just wait for Wilbur to do whatever he was planning to do. 

The curly haired man took the silence as an invitation to start his tune. It began with plucking and eventually as a small breeze picked up around them, he would strum occasionally. George attempted to bring in a conversation, but the most communication between the two was a series of nods and crooked smiles, occasional winks from Wilbur, but George was never looking then. 

“You look comfortable,” he said near the end of the song. His hands now just held the instrument securely in his lap. Call him crazy but his guitar was basically his heart. George gave him a puzzled look as he scooted further to the side. Wilbur patted the wood beside him. “Sit here, it’s smoother.”

“I don’t think that branch can support both of our weights,” George said, unsure.

“I’m sure it’s fine—“ he cut himself off at the sudden snapping sound. “I take everything back. George, take my love, save it!” He screamed dramatically as he handed over his guitar. George took it carefully in his arms but watched in silent amusement as the tall man screamed over four foot fall to the ground. 

Before the branch could break off from the tree, Wilbur had already jumped for it. Naturally landing safely on his feet, but falling to the ground, his giggles barely letting him take himself seriously. George took his steps down the tree much more carefully than Wilbur had executed.

Wilbur layed sprawled on his back, his hand clutches his heart. “Gogy,” he breathed out, “tell my son that he could do better in the boyfriend department. Make sure—“ He paused himself again, playfully hitting George to shush his growing laughter. “Please, Gogy, I’m dramatically dying here! Make sure the zombies don’t eat my face…”

George huffed as he observed Wilbur who looked more like he was trying to sleep than anything at that moment. His eyes were shut and his glasses weren’t even properly only his nose, only hanging off one ear. His hair was over his eyes, almost too tempting to run a hand through it and pull it back. 

“You’re quiet,” Wilbur whispered, almost breaking George from his deep thoughts of admiration. 

George turned his head, taking in a different angle. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered.

And like that Wilbur was revived from his little scene. His cheeks flushed red and eyes wide open, he looked at George and couldn’t help that overly cheerful smile of glee from shining through. “Uncalled for,” he stated as he sat up and dug his head into his hands and knees.

George shook his head, clearly proud of himself. He set the guitar next to Wilbur along with a small ruffle of the curls atop his head. “I should head back. have classes tomorrow morning,” he gave Wilbur a long look, “I’ll see you around?”

Wilbur nodded, meeting his eyes. “I’ll find you tomorrow and maybe we can do this again.”

George slipped his dark blue cloak on, smiling to himself. “I find your words mildly off putting sometimes,” he said, “I’m free past noon, make sure to bring food.”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, taking in the grass beneath him like it was the most comfortable bed he’d ever laid upon. “And I don’t suppose you want me to bring flowers as well?”

“No, of course not,” he shoved the idea away. “I’m bringing you flowers.”

Wilbur stared at him and George felt himself bake under his gaze. “Gogy, I am going to treat you so well, that whenever you think of me, you know what you will refer to me as?”

George shook his head, “no, Wilbur, I don’t think I want to know.” But his pleas were never heard.

“DILF. You’ll call me a DILF, dear GeorgeNotFound,” Wilbur said proudly.

“Goodbye, Wilbur,” George waved. His bag slung over his shoulder and cloaked waved gently against the small breeze. He kept looking back as the Pogtopian was soon swallowed up by the build up of shrubs.


End file.
